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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324444">A Most Effective Poison</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviosally468/pseuds/Leviosally468'>Leviosally468</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>...loves EVERYTHING about him, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Juiced-up Geralt, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witcher Contracts, Witcher Potions (The Witcher)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:53:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviosally468/pseuds/Leviosally468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt knew what he looked like under the influence of the decoctions he used. More than this he knew what he <em>was</em> like when the potions flooded his mind, lowering his inhibitions worse than Lambert’s home-brew. They made him feral; stripping away his intellect down to its most basic, primal functionality. In the throes of the hunt, Geralt didn’t hesitate, he wasn’t cautious, he didn’t hold back. He moved quickly and with intention, his mind re-wired to act on instinct; in response to the intensified physical stimuli provided by his heightened senses.</p><p>He would protect Jaskier from monsters, he would keep him safe…and that included protecting him from Geralt himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Most Effective Poison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Been jonesin' to write some juiced-up Geralt so here goes...a bit slower burning than I originally anticipated, buuuuut the rating will probably change by the end, XD</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had taken the contract for this apparently very large Cockatrice as Jaskier’s pleas for a proper bed and to be properly <em>dry</em>, thankyouverymuch, had grown damn near intolerable. He had relented at long last in the form of string of vaguely compliant grumbles. Antagonizing Jaskier was a matter of great principle but the appeal of a hot bath and a soft mattress <em>had</em> grown exponentially in the face of a weeks’ worth of torrential rain, so he had set out in the name of his sanity and for the sake of their perpetually damp garments and waterlogged supplies.<br/>
</p><p>He had left the bard at camp about a mile back with the express instruction that he stay put. What had once begun as a statement of fact, essential for Jaskier’s safety had lately been turning into a growing point of dispute. He wanted to join him on the hunt, claiming it was purely for science, so he could see how Geralt worked and more accurately chronicle his stories. It was simply out of the question. Jaskier was rather accident prone as it was and traveling with a Witcher did not improve his luck in that arena. It wasn’t the only reason Geralt staunchly insisted on taking upon his duties alone, but it was certainly the easier one, and he regularly brandished it in the face of Jaskier’s protests simultaneously as a testament of truth and to avoid the aching twist in his chest with regard to the second reason. Geralt simply couldn’t let…well, suffice it to say, he didn’t need any more complications than he already had to deal with concerning Jaskier.<br/>
</p><p>Jaskier’s company was something Geralt didn’t always fully understand but the longer the bard insisted on dogging his steps, the more he felt his defensive shield of churlish indignation melt away, replaced with a different emotion…something like <em>fondness</em>, but <em>more</em>. Geralt was fond of good ale, and he was fond of Roach. He was fond of staring into the crackling embers of the fire at the end of a long day, allowing his thoughts to drift in those brief moments of peace so seldom allowed him. But none of that quite seemed to measure up to what he felt for Jaskier, and whatever it was had only grown more complex the longer they traveled together.<br/>
</p><p>It had become increasingly difficult not to follow up his pointed glares at the bard’s unceasing dialogue with a wandering look over Jaskier’s muscular curves as soon as his back was to him. He had caught himself on more than one occasion analyzing Jaskier’s coy smiles, his lingering touches, the sway of his hips as he strode in front of Geralt and Roach…<em>wondering</em>. He found himself often dwelling on how Jaskier’s famed fingers would feel on his skin, or how his lips would feel…<br/>
</p><p><em>Fuck.</em><br/>
</p><p>He couldn’t even remember when or where the shift had occurred; somewhere between ceasing to ask for two beds under the guise of their financial situation and a growing jealousy when Jaskier sought any other company than his. That, and the way Jaskier simply <em>was</em>; bright and full of life, with an endless passion for the world and everything in it. Not that he held any illusion of Jaskier ever wanting him in that regard; it certainly wasn’t an idea he was accustomed to giving much thought to. Perhaps it was just a passing fancy. Gods knew every time Jaskier opened his mouth, Geralt found himself leaning more heavily toward that notion.<br/>
</p><p>The real truth, that Geralt would stubbornly take to his grave if he possibly could, was that the last thing he wanted was for Jaskier to see him on the hunt. It was bewildering enough that the bard insisted on remaining with him; sleeping on the ground in the middle of nowhere, subsisting off of little more than boiled rabbit and occasional roots and greens, and all in the name of singing Geralt’s praises to the masses with an amused indifference as though he were traveling with a decorated knight in shining armor as opposed to a Witcher.<br/>
</p><p>Geralt knew what he looked like under the influence of the decoctions he used. More than this he knew what he <em>was</em> like when the potions flooded his mind, lowering his inhibitions worse than Lambert’s home-brew. They made him feral; stripping away his intellect down to its most basic, primal functionality. In the throes of the hunt, Geralt didn’t hesitate, he wasn’t cautious, he didn’t hold back. He moved quickly and with intention, his mind re-wired to act on instinct; in response to the intensified physical stimuli provided by his heightened senses.<br/>
</p><p>He would protect Jaskier from monsters, he would keep him safe…and that included protecting him from Geralt himself.<br/>
</p><p>***<br/>
</p><p>Geralt crouched low behind a boulder, ears pricked toward a faint rustling on the other side. His blood pounded in his ears and his heart thrummed heavily against his ribs. He drew slow, controlled breaths through his nose as a cocktail of elixirs tore through his body. His skin tingled hot and receptive under his layers of armor and he felt momentarily flushed and febrile as his body adjusted; kicked into overdrive by what would have been, to any other ordinary man, a most effective poison. He shuddered as the sensation crept under his skin. The sickly-sweet nature of it turned his stomach as much as it exhilarated him. The potent combination of herbs fueled his mutated senses into a fever pitch. It dulled the throb of any wounds he might take, but he somehow still <em>felt</em> more intensely than ever; gooseflesh prickling under his tunic, picking up minute disturbances in the air. He sniffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the fetid stench of the Cockatrices’ lair invaded his nose. The Witcher narrowed his inky black eyes, pupils dilated several times their usual size, to appraise a point well in the distance beyond the rock he’d been shielding behind.<br/>
</p><p>A methodical scraping of claws on stone and a cackling jeer met Geralt’s ears and he reached his right hand back, loosening his silver sword in its scabbard. He edged around the side of the great boulder and stalked forward. The clouds parted overhead, casting ghostly rays of moonlight over the Witcher’s pale face, illuminating the dark spidery veins that pulsated just under the surface of his skin. His black eyes glittered grotesquely in the lowlight, pupils blown wide until they swallowed every last trace of the warm gold that normally encircled them, absorbing every flicker of every shadow as he prowled toward the source of the noise. Cockatrices preferred to nest in craggy, secluded outcrops of stone, and this one was no exception. Geralt loped up the side of a short rocky hillock, sneering as the stench in his nose intensified. He drew his sword as he rounded the edge of a particularly jagged precipice and found himself face to face with the beast.<br/>
</p><p>The thing was three times as tall as a man and twice as wide. The Cockatrice screeched an ear-splitting cry, tilting a beady orange eye to leer at him. The creatures were not well known for having great eyesight, but meeting its gaze was enough to stun a human for several hours. Geralt pivoted lithely to the right as the huge specimen spread its leathery wings aggressively, charging toward the Witcher on long sharp claws. It lashed out with its cruel steely beak but Geralt dodged its attempts easily. The great beast continued to screech and scrabble over the rocks, flapping its wings in a great rush as it fought to get airborne.<br/>
</p><p>Geralt’s brow furrowed in confusion…Cockatrices were extremely territorial and generally defended their aeries to the death. He cast about him suddenly as the stinking creature took flight, its cries echoing off the rocks, magnified a hundred times over in Geralt’s ears, and he understood. This wasn’t its nest…it had merely been hunting among the rocks. Geralt cursed aloud and sheathed his sword, his gut twisting in irritation, as much at himself for miscalculating as the wretched monster escaping him. He turned and began to lope back down the rocky outcrop, ears listening for the sound of the Cockatrice’s wings. His nostrils flared, inhaling the putrid stench the beast left in its wake as it made its way somewhere to the south of him.<br/>
</p><p>He had just reached the bottom of the knoll, ears picking up the stamping of Roach’s hooves where he had left her in a small copse of trees when a new sound shattered the relative silence of the night around him.<br/>
</p><p>“…<em>Geralt!</em>...”<br/>
</p><p>To anyone else, the cry would have been unintelligible; weakened by distance and utterly lost in the cloak of night sounds, but to Geralt’s heightened aural senses, the sound pierced the night like an arrow shot from a bow. It was as clear as if the bard had been standing two feet from him and it sent the bottom dropping out of his gut and a sickening clench in his chest. He picked up his pace as every other thought was driven effectively out of his mind, replaced with two words;<br/>
</p><p>Jaskier. <em>Trouble.</em><br/>
</p><p>Roach danced nervously as he approached, picking up on her rider’s mood. Without pause, Geralt swung into the saddle, reining his mare around toward the source of Jaskier’s distressed shout and cantered off into the night.<br/>
</p><p>He reined her in at the edge of their camp and leapt from the saddle, pulling his silver sword from over his shoulder as he took in the scene before him; Jaskier stumbling backwards into the dirt as a pint-sized version of the beast Geralt had been pursuing gave a shriek, rushing forward as it snapped at the bard’s ankles. A fierce cry echoed in the small clearing and in a rush of wings, the huge female landed behind her young.<br/>
</p><p>“Fuck.” Geralt growled, as the beast threw its ugly feathered head back with another deafening screech.<br/>
</p><p>Wasting no time, Geralt jogged around the edge of the camp, taking advantage of the Cockatrice’s diverted attention. He skidded to a halt behind the huge female just as she coiled herself to strike. He had a brief glimpse of Jaskier’s face under the creature’s wing, eyes squeezed shut. Refreshing to know he had retained some of what Geralt had told him about the beasts. With a guttural growl, Geralt broke into a run and with an almighty leap he pushed off a wide flat rock just behind the Cockatrice’s flank. He landed cat-like upon the monster’s back, driving his sword between its shoulders with a sickening crunch. The cockatrice screamed as it pitched forward, wings twitching grotesquely. Geralt sprang from its back and quickly dispatched the juvenile before setting the edge of his blade to the still-writhing female’s throat and slitting it cleanly.<br/>
</p><p>“G-G-<em>Geralt</em>…” Jaskier stuttered thickly from where he lay spread-eagled in the dirt. Geralt dropped his sword and turned away from the now-lifeless Cockatrice female and her nestling. He jogged to Jaskier’s side and dropped to one knee, cradling a tentative hand under Jaskier’s neck and propping him up against his thigh. The warmth of the bard’s body leeched through Geralt’s trousers and spread over his sensitive skin, sending ripples coursing through him. Jaskier’s hot breath puffed over Geralt’s chest as he gulped in air, his eyes glazed and his jaw slack. The reek of the Cockatrice began to slowly ebb away into the background as the scent of Jaskier accosted his nose; lavender and sweat, the sweet smell of alcohol burning off and smoke and something purely Jaskier…it was thick and heady and Geralt ducked his chin, inhaling deeply in the direction of Jaskier’s crown before he could stop himself. A wave of feeling of a different sort washed over Geralt as he breathed in Jaskier’s scent, like a warm blanket being draped over his shoulders. The overstimulated itch crawling under his skin stilled slightly. The sickening sensation of the elixirs coursing through his veins lessened to a dull roar, and the carnal torrent that was his mind quieted some and he marveled for a moment at the strange phenomenon.<br/>
</p><p>“Jaskier, are you hurt?” He growled as Jaskier squirmed against his leg and trembling fingers pawed at his armor. He fought the urge to reach for them. “Did she look at you?”<br/>
</p><p>“The little one did…Big Bertha there…f’you’d have been but ten seconds later…” Jaskier groaned, using Geralt’s chest to push himself up to sitting. A look from a juvenile Cockatrice wasn’t enough to knock one out cold, but he’d likely be feeling light-headed and dizzy for several hours yet, not to mention the short-term memory loss that was sure to follow in the morning.<br/>
</p><p>Jaskier finally turned his eyes to Geralt, blinking blearily. Geralt swallowed, drawing a steadying breath as a sudden possessive twitch throbbed within him and he looked away. He kept a steadying hand on Jaskier’s shoulder as the bard haphazardly brushed mud off of his front. An urge to retreat came over Geralt as the reality of what he must look like descended and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Jaskier’s eyes, so his other senses worked overtime to complete the picture. His nose was still full of the sweet smell of him and Geralt inhaled again, expecting at any moment to pick out a curl of fear or hesitation or disgust, and was surprised to find nothing of the sort. His ears picked out the bard’s rabbit quick heartbeat and the sound of his steadying breaths, but there was nothing to suggest he had flinched or was in any way deterred by Geralt’s current state. He could still feel the warmth of Jaskier’s skin radiating from him and despite how monstrous Geralt surely looked, the bard didn’t shy away. Geralt felt his own pulse quicken for entirely different reasons as Jaskier continued to appraise him quietly for a long moment, still swaying unsteadily under Geralt’s grip.<br/>
</p><p>“Geralt, a-are <em>you</em> okay?” Jaskier’s voice quavered weakly, and he reached a shaky hand toward Geralt before seeming to think better of it and instead attempted to lever himself up to standing, but his legs were unwilling to cooperate and he stumbled forward into Geralt’s chest instead, knocking a sharp breath out of his lungs. With a growl, Geralt’s hands instinctively caught Jaskier under the arms, hauling him upright again until he was leaning into Geralt’s side.<br/>
</p><p>“I <em>was</em> okay…<em>once</em>…” Geralt murmured, mostly to himself as Jaskier pressed into him.<br/>
</p><p>The heat from Jaskier’s body made Geralt’s head spin. It was stiflingly warm but even so, Geralt found himself leaning in a bit hungrily, seeking <em>more</em>. Jaskier’s hand gripped Geralt’s thigh as he adjusted against him, giggling and stammering out an apology.<br/>
</p><p>“Full disclosure; I may have had a bit of wine, Geralt, but this…<em>hooo</em>…this is <em>something else</em>…” Jaskier said swiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. “Tell you what, Witcher, if you could figure out how to bottle ‘<em>Essence of Cockatrice Stare</em>’ for coin, we might be eating a little better…”<br/>
</p><p>Geralt tried to focus, tried to hone in on whatever nonsense Jaskier was speaking, but the words seemed distant; reduced to a low hum in the background. Geralt found himself fixated instead on the shape of Jaskier’s mouth, the supple curve of his flushed lips.<br/>
</p><p>The potions were still surging through him, and an unquenched thirst continued to simmer in the back of his mind. Geralt felt a hot pang of need coil slowly behind his navel as Jaskier continued to touch him and he smothered it down, chancing a glance at the bard’s face. His eyes were heavily lidded, and his pupils were dilated and if Geralt didn’t know better, he’d think he <em>was</em> drunk. Jaskier’s head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder as he turned his face up to him once more. A goofy grin had taken up residence on his lips. His eyes were shining and his creamy skin glowed in the moonlight and Geralt wrestled a growing craving to burrow into the warm flesh of his neck and mark the skin there. A depraved itch crawled up his spine and the ‘whys’ were quickly ceasing to matter at all in the face of pure <em>want</em> and <em>need</em>.<br/>
</p><p>As though Jaskier could read his mind, his smile <em>deepened</em>, and the hand on his thigh slid upward ever so slightly. Jaskier reached his other hand shakily up to Geralt’s face to brush his cheek and Geralt felt his skin twitch involuntarily under Jaskier’s touch. His fingers glided into Geralt’s hair and <em>tugged</em>, and a hungry growl slithered between Geralt’s lips before he could stop it. He shouldn’t be here, not like this, but Jaskier’s fingers effectively immobilized him as his nails scratched against Geralt’s scalp. A fresh surge of heat flooded Geralt’s groin and his cock gave an interested twitch against the leg of his breeches. His left hand closed around Jaskier’s as it continued to creep steadily up his thigh and his right fisted into the back of Jaskier’s collar, tugging him close so that their noses were almost touching. He could feel Jaskier’s pulse quicken in the space between them and his breath hitch in his throat. He could smell the sharp spike of arousal that rolled off of him, and a part of Geralt wanted to slow down and investigate the reaction but the thought seemed desperately far away now as a purely carnal need to ravage his body became almost overwhelming.<br/>
</p><p>Jaskier’s eyes were lust-soaked and hazy in the low light; his sharp breaths giving way to expectant little moans and Geralt quickly felt the shred of reservation he’d been fighting to maintain slipping slowly away even as some stubborn part of his mind scrabbled desperately to regain it; to pull him back. This wasn’t right…was it? The thought was distant and fleeting but he recognized it…held on to it as it intensified in his mind and he withdrew in on himself. Face pinched in a tight grimace, he summoned a last shred of self-restraint and slid away from Jaskier, forcing his hands into fists at his sides. Jaskier was not in his right mind and Geralt wasn’t an animal…he was <em>not</em> a monster. He exhaled slowly and got to his feet, mutant black eyes fixed upon the ground between his boots. Jaskier’s hands fell away as he rose, but Geralt could still feel his eyes on him.<br/>
</p><p>“Stay away from me, Jaskier.” He growled, the sound coming from deep in his throat; the sound of a cornered wolf, momentarily quelled but not tamed.<br/>
</p><p>He stepped forward, intent upon escape; to slip away and ride out the last of the effects when suddenly there was a hand around his wrist.<br/>
</p><p>“Geralt…you’re <em>beautiful</em>…” Jaskier murmured in husky whisper, but his words cut the silence between them like a knife.<br/>
</p><p>Jaskier shifted clumsily until he was on his knees, and almost fell backward before Geralt caught his elbows with a sharp hiss and pulled him upright. Jaskier’s eyelids fluttered and he swayed a bit unsteadily as Geralt’s hands found his shoulders. The bard was <em>definitely</em> not in his right mind but there was a look of intense determination on his face as his eyes found Geralt’s once more. Slowly, his hands drifted to cup Geralt’s face, drawing their foreheads together. Geralt could feel himself breathing hard as his fingers curled into the muscle of Jaskier’s arms. His eyes continued to hold Geralt captive as his thumbs massaged gentle circles into Geralt’s jaw.<br/>
</p><p>“I’m not made of glass, Geralt…let me be here for you…let me be whatever you need…”<br/>
Geralt allowed the sobering comfort of Jaskier’s touch and his words to envelope him as his breathing evened. He could feel the effects of the potions finally ebbing away, and with the retreat came a bone-weary exhaustion. Before his belabored mind had time to scramble together an objection, Geralt’s hands drifted down Jaskier’s arms to close gently around his wrists. Geralt forced his eyes to remain open as his pupils retreated and burnished gold replaced inky black once more. He leaned into Jaskier’s soothing touch, his still hypersensitive skin tingling.<br/>
</p><p>“You are always what I need.”<br/>
</p><p>Jaskier’s eyes widened as he held Geralt’s gaze.<br/>
</p><p>“I’m going to need you to write that one down, Geralt…” he began in a hoarse whisper, “If the stares of Cockatrices are anything akin to heavy alcohol consumption, I fear I won’t remember much of this in the morning…”<br/>
</p><p>“Good…” Geralt murmured. It was certainly a rather convenient side-effect, particularly because Geralt’s muddled brain was suddenly having very lofty, very <em>bold</em> ideas of how to take advantage of it. He tipped his head in until his lips were teasing against Jaskier’s and the bard met him the rest of the way in a soft slow kiss. An echo of arousal fluttered distantly in Geralt but he ignored it, relishing in the tender fleeting moment and the sweet taste of Jaskier. He broke away quickly, albeit regrettably, Jaskier’s lips chasing him with an indignant whine as a crooked grin curled the corners of his mouth. He slid a supportive arm under Jaskier and guided him in the direction of their bed rolls. He could feel the bard grinning up at him as Geralt deposited him with a soft ‘flump’ onto his blankets. Jaskier was silent for a moment, but Geralt could smell the sweet surge of self-satisfaction that radiated off of him.<br/>
</p><p>“How long have you <em>actually</em> been waiting to kiss me, Geralt?” Jaskier’s irritatingly smug voice drifted over Geralt’s shoulder as he strode back in the direction of the Cockatrice; he still had a contract to fulfill after all.<br/>
</p><p>“Don’t flatter yourself, bard” Geralt grumbled out, but his smile didn’t falter.<br/>
</p><p>“I can…promise not to flatter myself <em>again</em>…?” Jaskier simpered as Geralt retreated to the other side of the camp to retrieve his sword.<br/>
</p><p>“I said don’t flatter yourself…never said to <em>lie</em>.” He called as he made quick work of the carcasses, setting aside the valuable pieces, and discarding the rest to one side.<br/>
</p><p>A garbled string of retching noises, indignant scoffs and what sounded like ‘insufferable, pig-headed Witcher’ met his ears at that.<br/>
</p><p>Scrubbing an arm across his brow, Geralt tore off his ruined tunic, and used it to hastily wipe his sword clean before tossing it on the waste pile and casting Igni to burn the remains. The rest, he wrapped in a thick, oiled cloth and tossed over a large branch, hauling the bundle out of the reach of scavengers and tying it off around the tree’s thick trunk. With his task finished, he strode first to Roach and fished a fresh shirt and a bottle of dark green liquid out of his saddle bags before returning to where Jaskier lay on his back with his forearms crossed over his eyes.<br/>
</p><p>“My head feels funny…” Jaskier’s muffled voice drifted from between his elbows as Geralt knelt beside him. “…sort of light, and foggy…simply <em>talking</em> is an effort…”<br/>
</p><p>“I’ll be sure to introduce you to more Cockatrices more frequently, then.” Geralt replied evenly, masking a smirk with the task of un-corking the small vial with his teeth as Jaskier’s bright blue eyes leered at him from between his arms.<br/>
</p><p>“Oh, ho, ho…<em>very</em> funny Geralt, and so very original…”<br/>
</p><p>“Here, drink this. It’ll help.” Geralt passed him the bottle of mossy-green liquid. Jaskier held it under his nose and sniffed apprehensively, his face promptly wrinkling with disgust.<br/>
</p><p>“Sweet <em>misery</em>…that smells like…”<br/>
</p><p>“Less talk, more drink, bard…” Geralt interjected with a glare. With a disgruntled huff, Jaskier pushed himself up on his elbows, meeting Geralt’s glare and sticking out his tongue before pinching his nose with one hand and tossing the green liquid back with the other. Geralt rolled his eyes as Jaskier cursed; coughing and spluttering dramatically as he rolled onto his side. Geralt stood, shrugging into his clean tunic and covered the short distance to his own bedroll across from Jaskier’s. He settled down cross-legged, a bubble of affection blooming in his middle as he watched Jaskier finally heave a resigned sigh, wriggling down into his blankets.<br/>
</p><p>Geralt closed his eyes, his own head still throbbing faintly. His limbs felt heavy and his body felt feverish with exhaustion. A long silence stretched between them, broken only by Jaskier squirming to get comfortable and emphasized with several sharp, frustrated noises. The ever-present scent of Jaskier spiked seductively again and Geralt inexplicably breathed in deeper.<br/>
</p><p>“Geralt…” Jaskier’s tentative voice drifted presently across the space between them, “…what, uh…what <em>ailments</em> is your little witchery brew good for exactly?”<br/>
</p><p>“It’ll help you sleep, it’s…why?” Geralt cracked one eye open to look across at Jaskier. There was a rosy flush in his cheeks as he turned to look at Geralt. Jaskier’s tongue flicked out to wet his lip before sucking it between his teeth.<br/>
</p><p>“Well…it’s just…well, that is to say, while you are always my muse and inspiration, Geralt…our little, uh, <em>moment</em> has left me feeling inspired in an entirely different manner…if you take my meaning…” He punctuated this by sliding his hand languidly under the blanket and between his legs, making a show of rolling his hips upward. Geralt felt the heat rush to his groin, but he ignored it. Jaskier was still disorientated from his encounter with the Cockatrice and there was still a very strong likelihood that he would remember next to nothing of what had happened in the morning. It was due in part to this that Geralt hesitated. He wanted to know…no, he <em>needed</em> to know that Jaskier’s feelings extended beyond a half-lucid fantasy rooted in… ‘<em>Essence of Cockatrice Stare</em>’.<br/>
</p><p>“I’m sure fingers as famed as yours will find a way to remedy that…<em>ailment</em>.” He grumbled, closing his eyes against the sea of blue boring into him as Jaskier groaned miserably.<br/>
</p><p>“This might <em>actually</em> be how I die…” Jaskier whined, the sound of blankets rustling echoing in Geralt’s ears.<br/>
</p><p>“Hmmm…pity…” Geralt replied, earning himself an indignant snort.<br/>
</p><p>He allowed his mind to wander as Jaskier’s breathing lengthened. ‘<em>Geralt, you’re beautiful…let me be whatever you need,</em>’…played on a loop in his mind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to CatLovePower for keeping me on track 😙</p></blockquote></div></div>
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